


The Huntress's Heart

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Reimagining of 4.11: "The Hunter's Heart". Gwen transforms back into herself immediately after being shot. She is brought back to the castle to recuperate, and Mithian finds she prefers Gwen's company to Arthur's.“I’m sorry for shooting you,” Mithian said. Guinevere’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders tensed. “I know I thought you were a deer, but it must have been terrifying for you.”“Why would you think that?” said Guinevere. “It was so much fun!” It was the first time Mithian had heard Guinevere speak since the woods. Her voice was harder than Mithian had expected it to be, but Guinevere had clearly been through a terrible ordeal. There wouldn’t be anything soft about her, not anymore.





	The Huntress's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I think I found my new favorite rarepair...

Later, Mithian would say her real life began when she watched a deer transform into a woman. In all three-and-twenty years of her life, she had never seen a piece of magic so beautiful or so devastating. The entire creature quivered and melted, and, before Mithian could cry out, resolved itself into its true form.

At first, Mithian thought she’d struck a forest nymph with her arrow, but the wounded woman told her, in halting tones, that she’d been cursed. “You’re all right now,” Mithian said, stroking her damp forehead. “We’ll go into Camelot. The court physician can help you.”

The woman struggled backward. Her eyes were large and wet. “No!” she said. “I can’t go back there.”

“Mithian?” called Arthur.

***

The woman’s name was Guinevere, and she was Arthur’s heart. At least, that was what Merlin told Mithian, in no uncertain terms. “He will always love Gwen most,” he said, his voice low and urgent. They were alone in the corridor, but Merlin still leaned close to speak to her. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Mithian said coolly. “And you would do well to remember your place.”

“My place is by Arthur’s side,” said Merlin. “I look out for his best interests, and that’s not you.”

While Merlin prowled and fretted and generally made a nuisance of himself, Guinevere recovered in an empty set of chambers. The only people who went in or out were Gaius, Merlin, and a chambermaid, and Mithian found herself growing curious about the mysterious almost-queen of Camelot. She went over her memory of the woods until it became soft and worn like a scrap of old cotton. Guinevere lying on the forest floor, dressed in a sort of purple gauze, looking like a lost dancer. Her eyelashes thick and glittering with tears. The image tugged at her. It was inevitable that Mithian pay Guinevere a visit.

One rainy afternoon, she waited for Merlin and Gaius to leave the palace before going to Guinevere’s chambers. The guards outside the door let her in easily. After all, Mithian outranked Guinevere by a good deal.

Guinevere, dressed in a nightgown, was sitting in a chair by the window, watching the knights train below her. She did not acknowledge Mithian’s entrance.

“I’m sorry for shooting you,” Mithian said. Guinevere’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders tensed. “I know I thought you were a deer, but it must have been terrifying for you.” 

“Why would you think that?” said Guinevere. “It was so much fun!” It was the first time Mithian had heard Guinevere speak since the woods. Her voice was harder than Mithian had expected it to be, but Guinevere had clearly been through a terrible ordeal. There wouldn’t be anything soft about her, not anymore. When Mithian drew near, Guinevere flinched. Neither of them mentioned it.

“How is your leg doing?” said Mithian, taking a seat across from Guinevere’s. 

“I walked on it again for the first time yesterday,” Guinevere said. “Gaius thinks I’ll make a full recovery.”

Mithian smiled in relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Me too,” Guinevere said dryly, and Mithian laughed in surprise. 

After that, Mithian made sure to come by at least every other day, to check on the convalescent and try to make her laugh. She kept her visits a secret from Arthur, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She still could not entirely believe that she and Arthur would be married come summer. For the second time in under two years, Camelot underwent preparations for a marriage. Mithian endured the fittings for her trousseau, though she cared little. As long as her outfit was soft and comfortable, she was content. Sometimes she thought she’d be happier if she went naked, wearing only a fur in winter. Awkwardly, the things that had been put aside for Guinevere’s coronation came out for Mithian. The crown, the scepter, and the ring were brought up from the vaults and polished.

Guinevere, cloistered as she was, was removed from much of the confusion. No matter what was taking place in the rest of the castle, Guinevere’s room was quiet and peaceful and smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Guinevere, pretty as anything in one of her old dresses, carried herself like a queen, her back straight and her head high as she surveyed all two of her rooms. Sometimes, Mithian would forget that Guinevere was low-born. It seemed that she had been a noblewoman all her life. Orders to her chambermaid rolled off her tongue, though she did do a lot of work herself. She scrubbed her own floors and changed her own bedding, though she needed the maid to bring her the clean linens. There was a cool confidence in her that Mithian admired.

Meanwhile, Mithian barely spoke with Arthur, unless it was in meetings. Now that they were almost married, he invited her to the Round Table, and though she loved discussing strategy, she had to admit that she and Arthur couldn’t find much else to talk about. He was always so stilted with her. She worried that Merlin was right, and that Arthur really couldn’t let go of Guinevere.

Merlin picked up the pace of his complaints. Whenever Mithian saw him, now, he’d glare at her until he was certain she’d noticed. One morning, she woke up to a bedroom overrun with frogs. She knew immediately that Merlin had done it. She wasn’t sure how he’d done it, especially when frogs were supposed to be asleep for the winter, but Merlin was unfairly good at being troublesome.

“I’ll talk to him,” Guinevere said. The year was on the cusp of spring, and the sweet smell of wildflowers came through the window. 

“Do you still want Arthur?” Mithian said. Guinevere looked down at her hands.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think I do.”

“So we’ll be all right, if I marry him?”

“Yes,” said Gwen, “of course.” But her eyes were cold.

And yet, despite the shard of animosity between them, Guinevere and Mithian had become friends. They talked of literature and of hunting and of weapons. Mithian did impressions of Guinevere’s poor chambermaid until Guinevere fell out of her chair laughing. Guinevere became Gwen. The two of them complained about Merlin, though Gwen was always defensive of him.

“He can’t help being odd,” she said as she worked on embroidering a violet onto a day dress. “He sees things differently that the rest of us.”

“I can’t work out why he hates me,” said Mithian. While Gwen embroidered, Mithian surreptitiously sketched her. With her big eyes and high cheekbones, Gwen was very satisfying to draw. “You’re over Arthur, but Merlin still seems to think that I’m stealing him from you.”

“I think he’s worried about me,” said Gwen, her forehead wrinkling. “He doesn’t like that I’m alone in here all day.”

“Why don’t you leave?” said Mithian. It was strange, but she didn’t think she’d ever asked Gwen why she’d isolated herself in her chambers. 

“I feel safe in here,” Gwen said simply. 

“Safe from what?” said Mithian. Gwen’s fingers tightened around her needle, and she sucked in her lower lip.

“The sorceress who cursed me…”

“Morgana,” Mithian prompted. 

“Morgana,” said Gwen, and her voice was broken. She spoke, then, though she didn’t look at Mithian the entire time. Instead, she traced her violet with a finger again and again. 

“I loved her,” Gwen began, and Mithian leaned forward.

“You loved her?”

“Not like a sister,” Gwen said. “Not like a friend. She was my—she was my lover.”

“Oh,” Mithian breathed. She thought about her own brief flirtation with another princess when she was five-and-ten, and blushed. “I didn’t know.”

“No one knew,” said Gwen. “We made sure of it. We were terrified that if Uther found out, he would send me away. And so we loved quietly. Secretly. She would pick me flowers in the meadow, and I would sing to her at night. She used to call me her little Gwen-bird. _Gwen-bird, come and perch on my chair_ , and I’d go to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Mithian said. “I can’t imagine how her betrayal feels.”

“She betrayed me, and I betrayed her,” Gwen said dully. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“You betrayed her?”

“When she took over Camelot,” said Gwen. “I promised that I felt the same as I always had for her, that I would protect her queenship. And then I turned my back on her and let her fall.” She wiped her eyes in a quick businesslike swipe, and went back to her embroidery.

“And then she tried to kill you.”

“She has tried to kill me many times,” said Gwen, and abruptly threw the gown to the stone floor. “I loved her!”

Mithian’s heart swelled with sympathy. She hugged Gwen to her breast and rubbed her back and smelled the sweet fragrance of her hair. 

Absurdly, Mithian felt the tiniest bit jealous of Morgana.

***

It all made sense when Mithian walked in on Arthur and Merlin kissing in Arthur’s bed. They didn’t notice her until she coughed, and then they leaped apart as if they had been burned.

“Mithian!” Arthur said, strangled. 

But it was Merlin who captured Mithian’s attention. His face was blank as he stared at her, but she could tell that behind the façade, he was frantic. This whole time, he’d been afraid of losing Arthur. It wasn’t about Gwen at all, if it ever had been.

“You love him,” Mithian said. Merlin, his mouth tight, nodded.

“Mithian,” Arthur said again, but Mithian cut him off.

“I’ve been a fool,” she said. “I have to go. I’m not angry.”

She ran all the way to the meadow, and filled her arms with flowers.


End file.
